


I’ll Be There For You

by Gerec, kageillusionz



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Crack, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, F/F, F/M, Friends AU, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Humour, M/M, Marvel Cameos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take five (5) twenty-somethings living in New York City. Pour in a generous amount of relationships, stir vigorously with a spoonful of eccentric quirks, and add one troublesome older brother to garnish. Best served with a side of sexual tension at Hellfire.</p><p>OR</p><p>The one where Moira is a cop and lives with struggling actress Raven. Azazel and Erik are engineering buddies working at Stark Industries. Erik is married to Magda and Azazel used to date Emma, who runs the New York branch of Frost Enterprises. Things are relatively uncomplicated - until Raven’s older brother Charles comes barreling into their lives with his sort-of-fiancé hot on his trail...</p><p>OR</p><p>The 'Friends' AU where nobody is exactly like the Central Perk gang (except Erik and Charles are definitely Ross and Rachel).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Charles Runs Away

**Author's Note:**

> No mutants were harmed during the writing of this brilliant piece of literature. All mutants appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have storylines/scenes from the show you want us to write, let us know and we'll see what we can do! 
> 
> gerec.tumblr.com and kageillusionz.tumblr.com

Erik has heard a lot about Charles Xavier from his friends over the past few years.

Charles is Raven’s beloved older brother, scion of the Xavier fortune, and currently teaching at Oxford University as a published and well respected Professor of Genetics.

Charles was Moira’s old college roommate, a few years younger but graduating at the same time due to that whole ‘genius/child prodigy’ thing.

Charles grew up in the same social circles as Emma, enduring the same high-society parties and frivolities as children, though it's been years since they saw each other last. (A.k.a. the time Charles made out with her brother Christian in the men's room. At her birthday party.)

Charles is handsome and charming and kind-hearted. Donates money to charity. Never turns away a friend in need. Finds random stray cats and dogs in the street and takes them home to live in his massive English estate.

Okay, he might have made that last one up.

Truth is - Erik can’t _stand_ Charles Xavier, even though he’s never met the man in person. Because Erik is old enough and wise enough to know that someone as perfect as Charles _sounds_ doesn’t exist; there’s bound to be something nasty and fake under that admittedly gorgeous exterior. (What, he’s married, not _blind._ ) And he knows if he waits long enough, his friends will spill the ugly truth about this seemingly perfect creature.

* * *

“I know I’ve said this before,” Raven muses, taking a slow sip of her beer, “but I think this might finally be _the One_.”

Emma snorts loudly with amusement and disbelief, somehow still managing to sound dignified. “Please. You said that about the last one too. And the one before that. And the one before _that_. Shall I go on?”

“I don’t know, Em. Charles sounds pretty fucking serious about Steve. They’ve been together for a year and a half, and he tells me things have been going pretty well.” Moira sighs, leaning back and throwing an arm around Raven sitting beside her in the booth. “Let’s just hope Steve doesn’t propose anytime soon.”

As far as Erik can tell, Charles and proposals are a volatile mixture. Legendary in a way that rivals Julia Roberts in _The Runaway Bride_ and her character’s predilection for getting cold feet at the altar. “You’re exaggerating, surely?”

“You haven’t met Charles,” Raven reminds him (again) with a long suffering sigh and pulls another sip from her bottle. Had Emma considered eye-rolling an acceptable action, Erik is certain he would have received one. As it is, Moira does it for her. “The fact it’s lasted this long is a fucking monumental step for him.”

“He’s taken many of those with Steve,” Emma comments and then drains the rest of her White Russian. “Let’s hope he sticks around this time. And let’s hope that Az comes back soon with that second round before I lose what's left of my patience.”

Erik has long suspected his best friend might actually be the devil, with his uncanny ability to suddenly appear where ever and whenever they happen to be speaking about him. He’s sure Azazel finds it an amusing way to use his gift, teleporting into the middle of conversations (and sometimes awkward situations) with impunity. As expected he arrives at the end of Emma’s sentence in a plume of red smoke, a tray filled with their promised drinks in hand.

"What did I miss?" Azazel asks, distributing the drinks before taking the empty seat next to Emma. Like Erik, Azazel has yet to meet the infamous older Xavier, and not likely to, given how firmly ensconced Charles is with his career and his supposedly serious relationship across the Atlantic.

"Charles is getting married."

"We hope. Eventually. If he ever decides to give it another go," Moira corrects as she reaches for her lemon lime and bitters. "Charles is lovely and deserves all the happiness in the world...I just don’t think it’s ever going to happen."

Azazel frowns, his tail curling around the back of his chair frame. "This is all so very confusing. You _want_ him to get married but you know for a fact that he won't?"

"We _do_ want that, Az," Raven says, waving a hand in the air that sends the beer sloshing about in her bottle. "Don’t listen to Moira. We’re just worried about him and wondering when he’s going to settle down.” She lets out a long, wistful sigh. “Won’t it be great when he finally gets married and has a couple of sprogs? Or three or four? I would make _such_ an awesome aunt. You know what I mean?"

Moira ignores her, directing her question at Emma with a thoughtful hum. "Do you think Charles' mutation has anything to do with it? Why his relationships never seem to work the fuck out?"

"Being a telepath has nothing to do with your ability to have a meaningful relationship," Emma retorts with a tight smile. "Though I’m not the right one to ask. I'm not exactly the poster girl for long-term commitments either."

"Yes well, enough with the doom and gloom. I propose a toast," Raven says, sitting up and holding her beer bottle high with a grin. "To Charles. May he never skip town again, never use the spare key to our apartment again, and never wind up sleeping on our couch. Again."

* * *

It's a funny sort of thing, fate. Because lo and behold, not even twenty-four hours after Raven's toast, Erik finds Charles Xavier — because there can be no doubt that the cherubic-faced, floppy brown hair and blue eyed gorgeous specimen of a man can be anyone _but_ Raven’s brother — taking up residence on Emma's pristine white leather couch.

Erik had been looking forward to a night in with his friends: listening to Azazel bitch about their boss’ latest ‘invention’, or sampling one of Raven's new tried and tested recipe for kosher Best Carrot Cake Ever (TM). Perhaps providing a sympathetic year when Moira swears like a sailor after another failed reconciliation with her on-again-off-again boyfriend, or even helping Emma pick out the perfect shade of white for the bathroom (and how can there possibly be that many different shades of _white_?). All in a night’s work, really.

He finds himself walking into what might possibly be the next World War, with the Xaviers Sr. and Jr. facing off. Though Erik doesn't know if it’s really an accurate description considering Raven is doing most of the yelling, and Charles appears to be quietly absorbing it all with an indulgent smile on his face.

"You know as well as I do," Charles says in his honeyed British accent, "that it was perfectly acceptable to ask for some time to think. It’s an awfully big step to take, Raven and we haven’t been together for very long…”

Raven, hands firmly planted on both hips, lets out an exasperated groan. Emma and Azazel rescues Erik at that moment, pulling him past the living room and into the acting bomb-shelter — the kitchen — where Moira is carefully icing a chocolate cake that Erik surmises came from their group’s emergency relationship/family/work disaster provisions.

"When did he get here?" Erik asks, jabbing a thumb towards the living room and propping his briefcase against a chair leg.

"Only a few hours ago. I wasn't home when he arrived, just Raven," Moira informs him, carefully scraping more icing onto the three tiered cake.

"And _why_ is he here?"

" _How could you just get on a plane to New York without telling him, Charles?_ " They hear Raven shout. " _You promised to give him an answer tomorrow! Why did you think this would be a good idea? Don't you have friends in Oxford or London?_ "

“Steve proposed,” Emma answers with a sigh, pouring Erik a glass of wine from the open bottle on the counter. “Poor thing. He must really like Rogers.”

“Ow!” Azazel’s attempts at sneaking a taste of the cake are thwarted by Moira’s sharp reflexes and her lethal wooden spoon. “I don’t get it,” he says, as he rubs his sore hand with a grimace. “Why did he run away if he likes this Steve person so much?”

 _Fickle_ is what Erik wants to say, though he bites his tongue and takes a sip of his white wine instead. Then again, with the brief glimpse he caught of the man’s ass before they dragged him away, Xavier can definitely afford to be.

“Well,” Moira says, “the yelling is bound to take a while. Why don’t I tell you guys about Charles’ first fiancée Gabrielle? And his second one Amelia. And the third one Lilandra.”

* * *

By the time Moira finishes telling Charles’ tale of woe (with additions and corrections from Emma), the cake has been polished off and the yelling in the living room has stopped. With Emma leading the way they head out of the kitchen with great care, only to find the Xavier siblings laughing softly and curled around each other on the couch.

“Everything alright in here?” Moira asks.

“Yes Darling, of course.” Charles smiles when Emma hands him a glass of wine, chuckling as Raven swipes it out of his hand immediately and takes a long drink. “I’ve missed you all so much.”

Erik barely stifles a snort, getting an elbow in the stomach from Moira as Emma sweeps Charles into her arms. There’s an awful lot of hugging and kissing and general fawning all over Xavier before Azazel finally cuts in and introduces himself with an exaggerated flourish.

“I am Azazel,” he says, eyeing Charles up and down with a smirk, “and it is a pleasure to finally meet Raven’s big brother.”

“Oh hell- _o_.” Charles greets him excitedly, and the eager-as-a-puppy reaction does not make Erik want to beat Azazel over the head with his briefcase. “Raven has told me so much about you. Your gift is simply marvelous!”

Azazel smirks and Erik knows exactly what his bastard of a best friend is going to say next. “Raven tells me you study mutations. Want to see what I can do with my tail?”

Thankfully, Raven interrupts before Charles can answer. “Shut up Az, he’s almost engaged.”

“ _Almost_ , but not yet.”

“Close enough,” Emma says, dragging Erik forward and pushing him towards Charles. “This is Erik. Erik meet Charles.”

He’s known for a while now, from pictures and various descriptions from his friends that Charles Xavier is an attractive man. Very attractive. _Ridiculously_ attractive. But no amount of advanced warning could have prepared him for a face to face meeting with his very own angel.

“Hello Erik,” Charles breathes, getting _very_ close into Erik’s personal space and taking his hand. “Raven tells me you have the _grooviest_ mutation. Would you show me _yours_ , if I show you _mine_?”

“Uhh…” is what comes out of his mouth, not _you’re perfect_ or _I was so wrong about you_ or _I think I’m in love_.

“For fuck's sakes Charles,” Moira snaps, “you’re still almost engaged. And _he's_ married. So do us all a favor and keep your pants on.”

The reprimand doesn’t seem to affect Charles at all, though Erik swears he can feel Charles’ attention and enthusiasm waning fast at Moira’s remark. When Raven drags him away Erik tells himself that he’s relieved; he loves his wife, even if activity in the bedroom has become all but non-existent.

Not that it's a problem. Much.

He's fairly certain it'll get better, once Magda isn't so stressed out at work. And hopefully, all those yoga classes she’s been taking with her new friend 'Natasha' will help.

In the meantime, there’s nothing wrong with making a new friend of his own. Even if the new friend makes Erik think decidedly inappropriate thoughts about bending him over the couch. Or the kitchen counter. Or the dining room table...

**_ Fuck.  _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: The gang brings Charles to their favorite pub, 'The Hellfire' where he meets Shaw. Shaw flirts with Charles. Erik is not amused. And Steve catches up with his run-away boyfriend to get his answer...


	2. The One Where They Take Charles to Hellfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang takes Charles to their favorite 'pub bar-thing', the Hellfire. The handsome bartender flirts with Charles; Erik is not amused. And Erik and Charles get to know each other a little better.

Grabbing a pint had been Charles’ idea; he's heard so much about this infamous pub bar-thing that Raven and her friends seem to frequent daily that Charles had to visit too before... well. Before he returns home to give Steve his answer.

Charles finds out first hand that Hellfire’s red leather booths aren't as spacious as Raven had described during their weekly long distance calls. ‘Snug' she’d said. And it _is_ very snug. So much so that he and Azazel are getting acquainted in a manner typically reserved for third dates (third dates for most people that aren't Charles, that is).

Then again, they’re all pushing the boundaries of personal space with six people crammed into a booth designed for four.

"Is that your third beer already, Charles? You haven't changed much at all, have you?" Emma says, freeing her arms from where they were trapped between Azazel and Moira. "Move over, Az. If I didn't know you were such a health nut, I'd swear that you've gained some weight."

"If he moves over, he'll end up in Charles’ lap," Erik replies blandly, his thumb stroking absently over what Charles can see is the latest state-of-the-art Stark-phone, not yet available to the public. He has such lovely long fingers actually, Charles thinks, finding himself rather _entranced_ by the size and shape of Erik's hands.

“I don't think I'd mind,” Charles pipes up, turning to level a winning smile at Azazel, one that his booth mate happily reciprocates.

“Must you flirt with everybody?” Raven asks, rolling her eyes at his antics. “Need I remind you that you are soon to be engaged?”

“Fucking _betrothed_ ,” Moira adds, “to a prince of a man. In case you’ve forgotten.”

"I haven’t, thank you very much,” Charles says blithely, standing up and brushing the seat of his pants. “I'll buy the first round. It's the least I can do for having you put me up at such short notice. Shots for six?" Charles states, hoping to smooth over any ruffled feathers caused by his sudden appearance in New York.

He's met with a chorus of agreement and then heads to the bar, where he smiles and politely greets a stunningly gorgeous blonde leaning against the counter. Charles has half a mind to ask the woman her name when he’s interrupted by the barkeep’s voice, smooth as velvet. "What can I get you?" The towel is thrown casually yet expertly over a shoulder and Charles finds himself on the receiving end of a flirtatious grin.

Though the man comes across a bit cocky, he can't help but smile in reply. Hard not to really. “Six shots of your finest tequila, please.”

“Coming right up,” the barkeep says, quickly unstacking six shot glasses onto a tray. “I haven't seen you in here before. And you have that delightful accent...are you new in town?”

Deft hands caress the bottle like a lover, and then the barkeep tosses it high into the air, catching and spinning the bottle with great precision and flair before he pours generous amounts of alcohol into each glass. The dexterity and speed is a sight to behold, and Charles takes a moment to realize he’s staring (gawking) like a goldfish.

“Oh! You could say that.”

“The name’s Sebastian.” The bartender leans forward, close enough for Charles to get a good look at his face. Late 30s or early 40s, with smooth dark hair styled to appear perfectly tousled. Blue eyes with a mischievous twinkle and a smile that Charles is certain has set many hearts a flutter. “I own this bar. I’d _love_ to show you around, if you like.”

He's laying it on a little thick, though Charles will give the man points for confidence and an easy charm. Though before Charles can answer with a yes or no, someone loudly slaps down a handful of bills on the counter.

“We’ve got that covered, Shaw,” Erik says smoothly, slipping a possessive arm around Charles’ waist and easily lifting the tray up. “Keep the change. Let’s go, Charles.”

When they’re out of earshot, Charles wriggles out of Erik’s grasp and frowns. He has to tilt his head up a little bit higher to account for their height difference. “That was rude.”

“I was sent by Raven,” Erik says with a shrug. “You can take it up with her.”

“I will,” Charles answers, bristling at Erik’s standoffish tone. He doesn’t know what to make of Erik Lehnsherr, who’s been running hot and cold with Charles since the moment they met. “And I’ll thank you kindly to mind your own business. I can handle things myself.”

“Like the way you handled your boyfriend’s proposal by running half way around the world?” Erik snaps, only for his face to morph into horror as he realizes what he’s actually said. It would be hilarious if Charles weren’t so shocked at his audacity. “Scheiße! I didn’t—”

Charles is seething; he can’t _believe_ the nerve of this insufferable, arrogant ass, daring to judge when he knows absolutely nothing about him and Steve. “Yes well your concern is duly noted,” he says, the words chilly enough to send the entirety of Hellfire into a sub arctic freeze. “But kindly butt out and keep your opinions to yourself.”

He does not stomp away (though it’s a close thing), leaving Erik sputtering a half-hearted explanation at his back as he makes his way to the booth. Plastering a smile on his face, he drops back into his spot next to Azazel, ignoring the way Moira eyes them curiously when Erik follows with a pained grimace.

“I’d like to propose a toast.” Charles gives them all a brilliant smile, the one he uses to ‘close the deal’ as it were, ignoring the way Erik’s words are still echoing in his head. “To my brilliant and beautiful baby sister, my dearest friends Moira and Emma and new friends Erik and Azazel. You’re all lovely for putting up with my unexpected visit.”

The shots are downed with an enthusiastic cheer and then the gang settles down for an evening of gourmet pub food and catching Charles up on their respective lives. Between Wagyu beef sliders and ahi tuna tartare, Raven tells them about her latest audition, a dog food commercial that has her laying nude on a bed surrounded by puppies, making Charles left eye twitch at the thought of his baby sister thus exposed. That they want her to pose blond and pale skinned instead of her natural blue sets _Erik_ off on a fifteen minute rant - a fiery speech that Charles _doesn’t_ find strangely arousing - about mutants and not hiding their gifts to suit the elitist views of the predominantly white, hetero-normative and human oppressors ‘in power’.

After the gourmet mac & cheese and sweet potato fries cooked in duck fat and another round of drinks, they get into the latest ‘Tony Stark stunt’ that has Erik and Azazel cursing up a storm, Emma’s newest acquisition of a boutique hotel in the Upper West side and Moira’s ‘off again’ status with the kindergarten teacher she’s been seeing for the past five years.

Charles finds himself relaxing as the hours roll by, reveling in the shared laughter and easy banter. He’s even decided to forgive Erik for his earlier gaffe, lulled by the alcohol and the sexy timber of Erik’s voice and his delightful accent. Only now does he realize how much he’s missed having Raven and Moira and even Emma around; didn’t know he’d been starving for affection and attention that wasn’t tied to romance.

By the time they stumble (read: Azazel teleports them) back to the apartment, it is already getting late. Erik and Azazel decline a nightcap, citing an early meeting before disappearing out the door. How mundane. With a mutation like Azazel's, Charles would never worry about being late again. Would never need a set of keys. Or have to take the eight hour or so flight between LHR and JFK with a screaming toddler two seats away. 

Azazel is definitely useful.

And he's not bad on the eyes.

Charles might just be a tiny bit sloshed.

"Right," Moira declares with a growl. "I've got a long day tomorrow so I'm going to shower first." No one disputes her claim as they tumble onto the couch, switching the television on to some horrible sit-com about a group of 30-something friends living in the big city. Charles is only half paying attention to what’s happening on screen, content to watch his sister’s face as she guffaws at the show's latest ‘crisis’ - no doubt a problem easily fixed with a little communication and a lot of common sense.

One by one, they all head to bed until only Charles is left huddled underneath the blanket. The television is playing an old Clint Eastwood movie at low volume. Charles knows objectively that he should be sleeping away his jet lag; knows in the way that his body would really appreciate the brief respite before he has to put on his big boy pants and face up to what he's done. 

Steve will be worried. Is probably worried already. In his mind’s eye, Charles can see the pinch of Steve’s lips and a frown that pulls his blond eyebrows together. He hates that expression on Steve’s face.

Steve doesn’t deserve any of this. Steve who is sweet and kind and witty and endlessly patient. A decorated captain and an ex-military man. Steve who takes to civilian life with a rare optimism for someone who has seen so much fighting and war and death. Steve who makes him smile and laugh.

It’s been a wonderful year and a half. Steve is every bit a gentleman and they rarely have reason to argue. The relationship is easy and stable and he's one of the few people in Charles' life who has never showed an aversion to his powers, accepting his telepathy as part of what made Charles whole. Their relationship is reliable, mature and comforting, and everything people search for their entire lives.

And that's the crux of the problem. Steve is ... Steve is his safe bet. Steve is _good_ for him though he’s not certain that he’s good for Steve. When he pictures himself growing old, holding hands in the park over a game of chess, Steve’s is not the face he sees.

Steve is the dictionary definition of dichotomy: perfect and yet _not_ perfect for him.

Charles sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, wondering for the umpteenth time how this has become his MO. It’s not like he’s getting any younger.

But marriage? That’s a big phenomenal leap for all Charles Xavier-kind. His string of failed engagements are testament to that.

He switches off the television and flicks off the light that sits on the table next to the couch, hunkering down into the mass of blankets and cocooning himself into its warmth.

There’s still no date on his return ticket, but Charles knows that it will have to be soon. Hell, he ought to have called Steve to at least let him know that he’s alright. Steve will be worried out of his mind.

He takes a quick look at the clock. It’d be getting on in the day for Steve and no doubt if Charles calls now, he wouldn’t be able to catch Steve at home. Probably best to call later, Charles decides. Then it would give himself time to figure out what to say to Steve - because really, what _is_ there to say when your boyfriend runs at the first sign of long-term commitment? - and maybe if he slept the answer to that question would come to him during the night in a dream-fueled epiphany.

‘Yes, that will do nicely,’ Charles thinks as he rolls onto his side and presses his face into the pillow that smells of clean laundry. ‘Well done, old chap.’

\---

He means to call Steve when he wakes up, still groggy from the jet lag and a none-too-restful sleep. Instead, Raven drags him out of her shared apartment with Moira for a breakfast of strong coffee, bacon and eggs, regaling Charles with ever more stories about ‘the gang’. Breakfast turns into lunch with Emma and a tour of the new hotel to scout for necessary renovations, sending all thoughts of Steve out of his mind for another few hectic hours (though he does manage to send off a quick text in between, saying he’ll be in touch soon).

By the time Charles remembers to call again it’s after dinner, the six of them sharing an amazing pad thai and red curry chicken dinner that Erik makes from scratch. He’s suitably impressed and says so, eliciting a warm smile that softens the harsh contours of Erik’s rather handsome face. (Not that he’s been looking at Erik a lot. Well, maybe just a little.)

“I had no idea you were such a good cook,” Charles says, following Erik into the kitchen with a stack of empty plates. “Raven’s never mentioned it, though she talks about you and the others all the time.”

“Raven doesn’t care where her food comes from, as long as she doesn’t have to make it,” Erik answers with a chuckle, setting his own collection of glasses and cutlery on the counter next to the sink. “Magda and I used to cook together all the time. Try out new recipes, exotic new foods and spices...”

He sounds wistful, and Charles can’t help but ask, “You don’t cook together anymore?”

“Not very often, no.” The statement is punctuated by a shrug. “We’ve both been busy with work so…ah, no.”

A tinge of melancholy accompanies Erik’s answer, clouding his words with a sweet longing that Charles can pick up even without telepathy. It makes him inexplicably sad for Erik, the urge to comfort somewhat surprising since he met the man barely 24 hours ago.

Charles smiles, sending Erik a hint of empathy and understanding as he pats him lightly on the arm. “I’m sure you’ll get it back,” he says, and hopes for Erik’s sake that he’s right. Hopes - as unlikely as it is - that he’s developing precognition as a secondary mutation.

It’s strange, how comfortable and familiar it feels to be around Erik, as though they’ve been friends for as long as Charles has known Emma and Moira. He knows that Erik feels the same way because his thoughts are radiating outwards like rays from the sun, and Charles can’t help but bask in the glow of his warm regard.

“Charles, I think—,” Erik starts, but he’s interrupted when Moira pops her head into the kitchen, a worried frown on her face that draws their attention immediately.

“What’s the matter, Moira?”

“Sorry guys. Charles…you have a visitor. Steve is here to see you.”


End file.
